Lyrics of a Forgotten Song
by Forever Written in the Stars
Summary: CH3: "That trophy careens through the air so slowly yet Quinn doesn't have the time to react, to save the memory of what she once was.Quinn feels the overwhelming desire to cry, cry for what she's lost."
1. All That Matters

**AN:** This will be a series of one-shots and drabbles largely centered on moments the writers forgot to include. It will explore a wide variety of characters and relationships. These one-shots do not necessarily have any connection to each other, and not all follow canon. Reviews are much appreciated. Thank you.

Pairing: Puck and Quinn

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><p><em>did you love me?<em>

_yes. especially now._

_- puck and quinn_

His fingers trace patterns down her side, and one hand tilts her chin upward until her eyes make contact with his. There's a question in his eyes. That much is apparent in this unfamiliar situation. She answers the question with a nod of her head even though she knows this is wrong.

Her first time, it's not supposed to be like this, and certainly not with him. This isn't how she planned it. She'd imagined roses and candles shedding soft light over a darkened room, not an empty, dark guest room at Santana's house.

It's not how she planned it. It's also most certainly wrong, but in those moments, hidden from the world, that doesn't matter. It's just him and her, her skin against his, his lips against hers, as they embrace in the darkness, and somehow, in those short, fleeting moments, sheltered from the rest of the world, that's all that matters.

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><p>Date Published: 4.29.20111:50 am Eastern time


	2. Enchanted

She watches him walk away, his hand entwined with Quinn's as they walk away in their blaze of perfect glory, the cheerleader and the quarterback, a cliché as old as time, and suddenly, a certain feeling washes over her. She feels like she's been here before, seen this happen before, and it takes her awhile but eventually she figures it out. This moment is reminiscent of the day she first met Finn Hudson.

She remembers spilling her books across the tiled floor and hurrying to pick them up before she accidentally trampled by some klutzy football player who would undoubtedly claim he hadn't seen her there on the floor struggling to gather up all her stuff, but instead some football player, meaning the cutest guy she'd ever seen with soft brown puppy eyes who just happened to be the quarterback, had crouched onto the tile with her and helped her pick up all her things. Then he'd stood up and fixed his jacket before giving her a soft smile.

She remembers watching him walk away to hug a blonde girl with green eyes and a delicate nose, and she remembers wondering if he would love her too if she had blonde hair, green eyes, and a delicate little nose.

She watches him walk away again with Finn and feels inclined to think that she's destined to be the girl who loves Finn Hudson from afar watching as he strolls off into the sunset with Quinn Fabray, because that is, after all, how this all started.

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><p><strong>Edited:<strong> June 14, 2012; 7:11 EST


	3. All That Glitters

**Set during "Funk."**

**Character: Quinn**

**Please read and review.**

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><p><em>"woke up late today and i still feel the sting of the pain<em>  
><em>but i brushed my teeth anyway<em>  
><em>i got dressed through the mess and put a smile on my face<em>  
><em>i got a little bit stronger"<em>  
><em>- sara evans, "a little bit stronger"<em>

Horror makes Quinn Fabray motionless. The scene before her seems to move in slow motion. In that one second, Quinn sees everything she's worked for fall to pieces before her very eyes. _Again_.

That trophy careens through the air so slowly yet Quinn doesn't have the time to react, to save the memory of what she once was. The trophy slams into the wall and breaks into pieces, and Quinn feels the overwhelming desire to cry, cry for what she's lost, cry for what she's given up, cry for her own stupidity. Somehow, she holds the tears back.

As a Cheerio, Quinn learned how to hide pain behind a smile so bright it could cure cancer. The coach of Vocal Adrenaline still struggled to teach her performers that look, but Quinn, she had perfected that expression long ago.

She remembers the day she won that trophy, the one that William Schuester just slammed into the wall of the choir room damaging it beyond repair. During the first part of the routine, she'd made an error landing a stunt. She remembers the pain that had shot up her left ankle, but she hadn't stopped. Her smile had never wavered. When she got the x-rays, long after the routine had ended and after the Cheerios had been presented with a first place trophy, the doctor had told her she'd broken her ankle.

At least then, there had been some sort of concrete validation for pain. What did she have now? All she has is a baby bump and meager wardrobe of clothes. She has nothing. She is aware now, more than ever, that she has lost everything, aware that one night caused her world to come tumbling down leaving her trapped underneath the wreckage.

Most days, she doesn't show that sense of utter desolation, the one oppressing feeling that weighs down on her heart and makes her want to curl up in some dark and lonely corner where she can be alone and mourn everything she lost. She covers absolute devastation with bitchiness.

People still fear her, because even though she's lost everything (her popularity, her social status, her friends, her family), she still knows how to find people's weaknesses, knows which insecurities run deepest and how to best exploit those weaknesses. She can still make Karofsky tremble with just her patented glare, but unlike before, when people used to jump at her every command, she's just ignored. Her opinion and words don't mean _anything_ anymore. The worst she is capable of is dressing someone down with a harsh insult. The sting is momentary, and she doesn't have a group of bitchy cheerleaders willing to rub the insults she throws into the victim's faces.

So for the most part, they just ignore her, and now, Quinn Fabray has been forced to realize her worst fears. She is irrelevant, because really, all anyone wants is to matter. She doesn't even have the notoriety of being the girl who broke the heart of the varsity football team's quarterback by sleeping with his best friend. They just ignore the former cheerleader.

The room is silent now. The glee club is hardly unaccustomed to Sue's outbursts, but they've never seen Mr. Schue react this way.

Quinn can't tear her eyes from the broken trophy on the floor as Sue speaks.

_"You know, for me__trophies__are like herpes. You can try to get rid of them but they just keep coming. Sue Sylvester has hourly flare ups of burning itchy highly contagious talent."_

The broken trophy means nothing to her. Nothing means anything to Sue. Quinn knows that. She also knows Sue has hundreds of other trophies.

Mr. Schue broke one of a whole host of trophies, one that Sue probably doesn't even care all that much about. So what? She could care less.

_Sue_ doesn't care, but _Quinn_ does. She's sure Santana and Brittany do too.

She looks over at her teammates. Santana's brown eyes, usually cold and calculating, are filled with fury. Santana looks as if she wants to tear off Mr. Schuester's head. Brittany's blue eyes look, sad and she stares at the trophy blankly almost as if she can't register what she sees before her.

_They_ don't have masses of trophies accumulated over a long career. They only have that _one_, the one that _Quinn_ led them to as captain her freshman year.

_She_ was special. _They_ were special.

Amidst the mediocrity and sometimes pure futility, she and the Cheerios were the town's brightest star.

Every year, the football team plods through humiliation. The basketball team has yet to realize that you aren't awarded points for shooting airballs, and the baseball team didn't seem to realize that they're supposed to hit the ball when they swing. The soccer team didn't realize they were supposed to score in the _opponent's_ net, _not_ their own.

The Cheerios meant so damn much to her. That team was her shot out of Lima, her shot out of Ohio. She could've gone anywhere, California, New York, Florida, anywhere but here. Now, though, she stands there looking at a broken trophy and wondering what the hell she's supposed to do with her life.

Quinn wants to forget, wants to _forget_ that Nationals are just around the corner, _forget_ that she's not going, _forget_ that she's not a part of the team that's been parading down the hall in freshly-pressed uniforms and brand-new red-and-white ribbons. She _won't_ be in Miami, the land of sunshine and beaches, and shine on national television. She _won't_ be interviewed by ESPN after the inevitable win. She _won't_ get a scholarship. She'll be _here_ in _Lima_ with Puck trying to _forget_ that the rest of her team is in Miami… **_without her_**.

They'll win without her. They don't need her, because she's _messed it all up_.

She tries so damn hard (story of her life), but she can't; she fails (story of her life). That night keeps replaying itself through her memories in a constant loop. She thinks that if she has to watch the night replay itself once more she'll go crazy. She really will. She feels his calloused fingertips brushing her blonde hair out of her face as her hazel eyes meet his deep brown ones. She keeps hearing his low, smooth voice begging her to trust him as he kisses her gently between each word, and each kiss stabs through her heart. Those kisses became her undoing and spelled her fate. She wants the memories to stop, but at the same time, she can't look away. It's like watching a train wreck, absolutely sickening, but gripping at the same time.

Suddenly, Quinn's reverie of lost memories and opportunities is broken by the sharp sound of Santana's voice. Santana's screaming and looks to be on the verge of tears. She won't cry though. She's Santana Lopez, and she's _so fucking strong_, everything Quinn wishes she could be.

"That was _my_ trophy!" she screams, "It was _Brittany's_! It was _Quinn's_!" she rants "and you _shattered_ it."

And as she watches Santana fight for something that was once theirs, something that the three of them _fought so damn hard_ for, she feels like she's a part of something, and she hasn't felt like that in ages. She's felt so _alone_, so _isolated_, _abandoned_.

"That trophy, winning it, that's the only worthwhile thing I've ever done," Quinn says quietly, shocking even herself – she hasn't been strong enough to say _anything_ in ages, "That trophy sums up my _worth_. I accepted that it was all I was going to ever have, but now it's gone. I've got _nothing_…" she says before her voice fades into nothing.

Her eyelids slide shut and she feels a single tear trace its way down her cheek and knows she needs to leave. She's lost everything, her whole entire world, but she's got her pride. _No one_ will see her cry. She'll leave the theatrics and dramatic breakdowns to Rachel. She lets the broom she was using fall to the ground and she leaves the choir room, cradling her baby girl, feeling utter devastation once again.

The halls are empty. Most of the student body left an hour ago. If Quinn closes her eyes, the days where these halls were _her_ domain replay themselves in picture perfect clarity.

She can see Puck and one of his other jock friends throwing slushies at Rachel Berry and other unsuspecting losers, and though their behavior was always befitting of Neanderthals, Quinn could never help but find them funny. Quinn had _never_ liked Rachel, but then, Rachel had threatened to throw Quinn's world out of balance, and after that, watching Puck throw slushies in her face became _so_ much more gratifying.

She remembers walking down the halls as all eyes focused on her. She remembers walking hand in hand with Finn looking for all the world like the most perfect high school cliché, the quarterback and head cheerleader. Of course, everyone knows that in the end, the loser gets the quarterback and she gets left in the dust.

Just before Quinn had thrown her life to hell by sleeping with Puck, Finn had already come to the realization that he didn't want her. Quinn remembers a time not so far gone when Finn had looked at her with adoration in his soft brown eyes and told her he loved her. He hadn't lied at the time. The thing about Finn was that he was good to the core. Unlike her, he wasn't capable of malice, of dishonesty. He meant it at the time, but later down the road, those words had wrung false. She'd seen him looking at Rachel Berry the way he used to look at her. She was fighting a losing battle then, and she knew it, because Finn was the type to love with his full heart, and Rachel wasn't the type to back down.

After that, after Finn fell for _her_, it had all quickly fallen to pieces, even as she tried to save it, grasp it in her hands. It kept sliding through her fingers like the softest sand. She hated it. She couldn't stop it at all. She could only watch helpless as Finn lost his heart to Rachel Berry. She didn't understand (still doesn't) why Finn would _fight_ for Rachel Berry, why he would _choose_ Rachel. She remembers the futility, trying to bridge the gap between them, making everything whole. She failed, and when she really thinks about it, she realizes that she's failed more than she's succeeded.

What's she done in her life that matters? Sure, she'd won that trophy a year ago, but the world has a short memory, and by now, no one cares, except her. In the end, she's lost everything that matters.

She lost her position as captain of the cheerleading team. She lost her family (because her father's never been a forgiving man and somehow doesn't realize the hypocrisy of disowning his daughter for premarital sex despite his numerous and _frequent_ extramarital affairs). She lost Finn, and she sure as hell never had Puck (because he's a badass and would never commit to _her_ and only her). Puck will provide for their daughter, because for some reason, the school's resident slacker and delinquent has been overcome by some sense of duty, but that sense of duty is for their unborn daughter alone. He will provide for her because she carries his daughter, not for any other reason. And now, finally, she's lost the only thing she had left, the trophy, the one that now lies on the floor, broken and shattered as her.

Slowly, in her solitude, the tears start pouring down her face and she feels weak. Her whole body trembles, and she feels as if her legs are about to give way. As she leans back against the lockers, slowly sliding to the ground, the tears fall harder, and she closes her eyes.

The tears keep falling and she feels as if she can't stop them. She's totally out of control and she remembers that she forfeited control of her life a long time ago. She's lost everything and everyone, and she'd be lying if she said it wasn't her fault. Because it was… Each and every single thing that's happened to her has been her own doing. She's brought on herself. She's allowed herself to hit rock bottom, and now she needs to make a climb, a nearly impossible one. She needs to pull herself back up, but the only thing giving her the strength to go on right now is her daughter. Her daughter doesn't deserve to suffer because she's an idiot who thought "trust me" was an adequate form of birth control.

Quinn lowers her head and rests in on her knees, wrapping her arms around herself, as if she's trying to hold herself together. It's a hopeless effort. She broke a long time ago. She's been living in denial, thinking she's not broken, because she's always been one to hide even the most excruciating pain.

Sue Sylvester said that's what made her a good cheerleader. She would push her body to its physical limits, and her smile would never waver. Now, she's found that it's harder to cover up emotional pain. Covering all that pain has been _so hard_, and now, she just wants to stop trying. Her body, her heart, she's _so tired_. She wants the pain to stop so she can cease fighting, so she can finally find peace, but she knows her mistakes are something she'll have to live with for the rest of her life.

Quinn raises her head as she hears the choir room door open. It's Sue Sylvester followed by Santana. Sue turns the other way and doesn't even notice Quinn (Quinn doesn't take it personally). Quinn expects Santana to follow Sue, but Santana turns toward Quinn and walks toward her. It's then that Quinn realizes Santana's crying too, and in Santana's arms is a bag.

In response to Quinn's questioning look she says, "It's the trophy. I have some superglue, and I figured if Sue doesn't care, then maybe you should have it."

"No, you can have it. You deserve it just as much as I do," Quinn says and is shocked to find that she really means it.

But really, anyone would deserve that trophy more than she does. She could have ruined the squad with her careless actions.

Santana sighs. "We both know that the Cheerios are going to win nationals anyways. And we both know that it's killing you. I'll get another trophy. You should have this one. You deserve it."

And that, perhaps, is the only nice thing Santana's ever said.

Santana hands her the bag containing the trophy's pieces and the superglue. Santana isn't going to labor through the process of putting the trophy back together. If Quinn wants it, she'll have to put it back together on her own. No one's going to pick up the pieces of her heart and mend those either. It's up to her to do that, for herself and for her daughter.

She'll do it too, because she's Quinn Fabray, and somehow, even now, that still means something.

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><p><strong>Thank you to those of you who have reviewed.<strong>

**NOTE: "A Little Bit Stronger" written by Barker Aaron Gayle and Harbin Ronald Steven.**

**EDITED: 6/5/2011 11:35 PM EST**


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